


That Which Feels Right

by snuckybarnes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Begins during the first game, F/M, Feelings Realization, Filling In the Gaps, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, read the notes for further details of the r/n-c warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: They tell Geralt that he has returned from the dead, but he does not remember anything. For the most part he tries to play along with whatever people say, because it unnerves them to be reminded that he is a blank slate.Well. Almost.





	That Which Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as I was replaying the first game because this time around I actually knew who Regis was when they mentioned him, and feelings ensued. A lot relating to the first game has been re-written because a) I'm not a huge fan of the dialogue and b) it's bullshit that you can't do the quest with the vampires without having sex with them.
> 
> Then it kind of just... kept going and here we are.
> 
> As usual, not beta read, English isn't my first language etc etc
> 
> **Regarding the Rape/Non-Con warning:** It refers to a canon and unavoidable scene in the first game, where Triss kind of just has sex with Geralt without any prompting whatsoever. It's kind of implied throughout the whole game that Geralt happily wants to fuck anyone with tits, but as a player it really put me off to not get a say in what was happening so I guess I kind of projected that onto when I wrote it into this. I could go on and on about player agency and consent but right here I'll keep it brief.

Geralt doesn't recognise the man Shani introduces as Dandelion. He didn't recognise Shani either, when they met at the outskirts, just as he hasn't recognised anyone else. He tries to lay low with it it though; aside from the initial explanation that he has lost his memory and needs a reintroduction, he tends to not make too many comments when people speak of something that apparently is a part of his past. For the most part he tries to play along and nod at anecdotes as if they stir something within him, because it unnerves people to be reminded that he is a blank slate.

Well. Almost.

His body still remembers how to move through a fight, the trained instincts guiding him where he needs to go to avoid a blow as well as land one. The old witcher that calls himself Vesemir seemed pleased by this, and he quickly tried to test Geralt on just how much he still had left in his head. He started quizzing him, asking where to best strike a ghoul, what to be on alert for when hunting wyverns and where one might expect to run into fleders. Geralt answered most of those questions with ease, but when the questions turned to other matters, such as which king and country the silver lilies on a black background belonged to, he was at a loss.

It seems he is a witcher to the very core, with little else remaining.

What he has forgotten regarding monsters, he easily remembers, but it's different with people. Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir all told him that they know him, but he has nothing to go on save their word and the fact that they're all witchers. Triss said she knew him too, and Geralt had little choice but to believe her. She didn't tell him anything, but he suspects there must have been something between them at some point, if the way she acted at Kaer Morhen is anything to go by; always trying to be as close to him as possible, continuously dropping hints and remarks that she wanted him to join her in the tower chamber. He didn't act on it though, made sure to keep her at arm's length and not insinuate that he wanted anything further. He still doesn't know why, but there was a certain… discomfort that filled him at the thought of being with her. Maybe because she knows so much more about him than he does, and seemed reluctant to tell him anything. Still, she is kind and beautiful, and Geralt imagines most men (and likely many women) would sell their souls if it meant that they could be intimate with her. But despite the attraction Geralt feels only reluctance. He supposes that means there's something wrong with him.

From what he understands, witchers are solitary creatures. Yet, as he sets off for Vizima, he keeps meeting people who know him. Or know of him, at the very least. He wonders how long it'll take for the rumour of his amnesia to spread wide enough that people will try to take advantage of it, try to claim that they're old friends when they have never met, or when they didn't get along at all. Because if there's one thing he learns about humanity it is that there is no shortage of selfish people in the world, and that these people will go to great lengths to get what they want.

This Dandelion seems to be genuine though. Even a skilled actor would have a hard time faking the emotions that flash across the bard's face: shock, disbelief, hope and then happiness.

"Geralt?" he laughs, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. Geralt awkwardly pats his back, not sure if he usually isn't a hugger, or if the awkwardness stems from the fact that it's virtually a stranger. "I can't believe it! I mean, Shani told me, but I didn't believe it until now." He steps back, putting his hands on Geralt's shoulders. "It is good to see you, my friend."

Geralt looks away. He's not sure he deserves all these people that seem to like him, that keep insisting on their friendship. How good of a friend can he be if he's forgotten them all? He clears his throat. "Sorry. I don't remember you, lost my memory."

Dandelion looks crestfallen for a moment, before he smiles again, this time more reassuring. "Shani told me that too. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get it back in no time."

Geralt offers a tight smile. He doesn't want to promise anyone anything, but he doesn't want to let anyone down either. He's learned that sometimes it's best if he just stays silent and listens to what other people have to say.

"But how are you alive?" Dandelion asks as they all sit down around Shani's table. "I mean, I saw you die. Everyone did. There was a unicorn and–"

"Dandelion," Shani interrupts, placing a hand on his forearm. "He doesn't remember." Geralt wonders if she has dealt with amnesia patients before, but doesn't ask.

Dandelion looks at Shani, then at Geralt. "Nothing? Really? Not even what you've been up to these past years?"

"Nothing. Sorry," Geralt confirms, looking down into the mug that has been placed in front of him. He takes a drink from it, and the vodka burns pleasantly down his throat. "Might not even be the friend you knew anymore."

Dandelion frowns, then leans back in his chair, drink in hand. He looks almost as if he's about to put his feet up on the table, but there's no room. "Say, since coming to Vizima, have you only been killing monsters? Or have you stepped in to diffuse any situations between humans, or nonhumans, because you thought it was the right thing to do, even if it was none of your business?" he muses. His eyes are on Geralt now, and they look more intelligent than they did just a moment ago.

Geralt shrugs. "It's happened. Not about to stand idly by while innocents gets assaulted. Why?"

Dandelion smirks, but ignores his question. "And have you come across any contracts where you found that the monsters weren't monsters?"

"What do you mean?" Geralt asks with a frown.

"Well, hypothetically then," Dandelion says, shifting in his seat. "What if you had a contract on a vampire, for example, and it turns out the vampire was harming no one. Would you still kill it?"

"What kind of vampire?" Geralt counters. "Not exactly possible to reason with a fleder. They kill to survive."

"Naturally," Dandelion says, as if he's read his fair share about vampires. "But what if it was a higher vampire, one that didn't need blood to survive?"

Because blood to higher vampires is more like alcohol than food, Geralt recalls. They enjoy it immensely, but they don't need it.

"If it wasn't harming anyone I guess I'd try to reason with it," Geralt replies, and can't help but feel like this is a test of some kind.

Dandelion grins, confirming his suspicions. "I knew you'd say that. You see, you had a friend once who was just such a vampire."

A witcher with a vampire friend? Geralt shakes his head, chuckling. "Next you'll say I had a friend who was a dragon."

"You did. Apparently he was good in bed. Though it was a tub and not a bed, from what you told me."

Geralt is very thankful for the fact that he can't blush, but he feels the phantom heating of his cheeks and ears nonetheless. Shani has no such advantage, however, but does her best to hide her blush behind her mug.

Geralt clears his throat. "Right. Um. Let's… get back to the vampire." It seems a safer topic.

"As you wish. Though if you're wondering about his skills between the sheets I'm afraid I know little."

"I'm not wondering," Geralt assures and takes another drink.

"Alright, alright. What about him then?"

"How'd I become friends with a vampire, for starters?"

"It's a long story."

"So?" Shani chimes in. "You're a storyteller, aren't you?"

Steps walking up the stairs can be heard then, followed by the bellowing voice of Zoltan Chivay. "You're having Dandelion tell stories? What about?"

"Zoltan! Have a seat!" Dandelion hollers, at the same time as Shani says, "Geralt's friend the vampire."

"Regis?" Zoltan asks as he takes a seat. "What I wouldn't give for some of his hooch again, rest his soul."

The name doesn't sound overly familiar, but Geralt doesn't put too much weight into that. So far, no names have. But the last part of Zoltan's sentence does make him furrow his brow. "'Rest his soul'? He's dead?"

"Aye," Zoltan replies solemnly. "Killed by a sorcerer. The bugger could lift a white-hot horseshoe out of a fire without blinking an eye, but in the end he could die just like the rest of us. It's probably better if Dandelion does the talking though, he's got a knack for stories." He narrows his eyes at the bard in question, before he adds, "I'll still be making sure you don't get it wrong though, don't you worry."

"You weren't even there the whole time," Dandelion protests, but the words become a bit muted to Geralt's ears.

There's a sadness that settles in his chest upon learning that this vampire, this Regis, is no longer alive. The fact that a higher vampire was killed seems even less plausible than the fact that one was his friend. And the sadness, the strange hollowness, tells him that he indeed had been a friend, and a good one. As Dandelion — with a little help from Zoltan and a few curious questions from Shani — tells him about the vampire, about the mission they had been on, and about how it ended in a good deal of tragedy, Geralt silently listens and mourns someone he doesn't remember.

He wants to ask for more details, because Dandelion is sure to know more than he says, but now doesn't feel like the time for it. When they toast to Regis and the others that passed away, Geralt drinks for a little longer than he intended to.

He doesn't get a chance to talk to Dandelion again for quite some time, however. When he wakes up the next morning (on the floor, still wearing half his armour and with a stray pillow shoved underneath his head) everyone else is still sleeping soundly and he doesn't want to wake them. He gathers his things and slips out of the house, and lets the day's work consume him for a while. But the hollowness remains and he keeps wondering why the tale of a vampire has affected him so. He decides to find Dandelion again, but when he asks Shani about it she tells him the poet is staying in the Trade Quarter. Which Geralt isn't allowed to enter.

"Any other reason you dropped by?" Shani asks after she has told him about Dandelion's current whereabouts, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Suppose I should say thanks for last night," Geralt replies once he realises that politeness is something certain people expect from him, even if most don't. "It was nice."

"We could do it again sometime," Shani suggests, fiddling with the hem of her tunic. "Maybe just the two of us?"

Oh.

The same sense of wrongness as Geralt had felt when Triss was trying to get him to her bed in Kaer Morhen washes over him, again without a good explanation. Shani has little in common with Triss but she is no less beautiful. By all reason, Geralt should be excited about what she is suggesting, but he can't find it within himself to feel that way. He doesn't know how to tell her.

Shani mistakes his hesitation for something else, and walks closer, standing up on her tiptoes to press a brief kiss against his lips. "Think about it," she tells him, even though he remains motionless. The kiss felt as off as he thought it would.

Geralt offers a tight smile before he leaves, and doesn't pay Shani another visit after that.

\---

More than once he wonders what his pre-amnesia self was like, and what he did to cause his female friends to feel like they have a right to him. It happens again when he wakes up in Triss' house, disoriented and sore after the battle in the swamp. She assures him that he's in good health, and before he has the time to ask any of the questions that are running through his head, Triss is pushing him down against the bed and climbing on top of him. She isn't wearing much, and neither is he, he realises. She bends down to kiss him, her chestnut hair falling around her face. Geralt feels wrong again, even though he probably shouldn't.

"Triss, I don't–" he tries, but she puts her finger against his lips, hushing him.

"Relax, Geralt. It would do you good," she tells him, a playful and satisfied smile on her lips.

"But I–"

The smile fades slightly, and something that Geralt doesn't understand flashes behind Triss' eyes for a moment. "Please. Just let us have this."

Geralt doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to. His body reacts where his mind doesn't, and he lets Triss take what she wants from him. She does so, loudly and enthusiastically, and only afterwards does she fill him in on what he's missed since he passed out in the swamp. She also tells him that she doesn't want him to feel obliged to become the man he used to be, but rather to figure out who he is now. Geralt can't help but find her words a bit contradictory to her actions, but he doesn't say so out loud. Instead he remains silent, because he feels that is what she expects of him.

He's been doing a lot of that lately, trying to live up to people's expectations.

Throughout it all, the wrongness never leaves him, and he hates himself for it. He should be happy, content, but he's not.

\---

He tries to brush the feeling off to the best of his ability, though it still lingers. At least he now has access to the Trade Quarter, and he sets off for the inn with the intent of finding Dandelion.

The New Narakort is pompous, and Geralt feels out of place. He spends a few minutes looking for his poet friend, but without success. It's early afternoon though, so he is likely just away tending to something.

"I'm telling you, she's at the whorehouse," a voice says by a nearby table.

"Speak of my sister that way again and I'll see you hang," another voice retorts. "She's been abducted by a vampire, and nothing else."

Geralt turns his head toward the voices, his interest piqued by the mention of vampires.

"Couldn't help but overhear," he says as he approaches them. "Sounds like you could use a witcher."

"A witcher?" The man with the abducted sister looks Geralt up and down with a critical eye. "Hm. Well, it takes a monster to fight a monster, I suppose."

"What happened?" Geralt asks, trying to ignore the man's blatant disdain. He wants to help the victim, he tells himself. This man doesn't matter.

"Well," the man begins, "My sister started acting strangely a while back, and we soon found bite marks on her neck. From a vampire, no doubt. What else could it be? My family and I weren't sure what to do to help her, but before we could do anything at all, she was gone. Abducted in the night, without a trace! I'm certain the monster took her."

"And I'm certain," his companion adds, "that she's whoring herself out at the House of Night."

The first man turns to him, fury in his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to shut your filthy mouth? My sister would never degrade herself like that."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?" Geralt asks, trying to gain the man's attention again.

"If I did, I would have already rescued her," the man replies.

"Any clue to where I should start looking?" Geralt tries again.

The man ignores him completely. "She's a beautiful girl, early twenties, with long blonde hair. Her eyes are unmistakably blue, you'll know her when you see her. Please find her, witcher."

Before Geralt can try once again to make him understand that he needs a lead to start tracking, he's pushed away by the crowd and the man falls into a heated conversation with his friend. Geralt sighs, realising he's not going to get anything else from him.

Lacking any other leads he decides he might as well see if there is any truth to the other man's claims about the brothel. He asks a passerby about its location as discreetly as he can, then makes his way through the streets, which are significantly cleaner than those in the Temple Quarter.

The scent of oils and incense and the muffled sounds of people partaking in the entertainment provided by this particular establishment greet him as he steps through the door. It may be called the House of Night, but the place seems to see a good deal of business during the day as well.

His medallion twitches against his chest.

Strange.

The twitching doesn't ease up as he moves through the room, but it doesn't intensify either. Still, Geralt remains on his guard.

Sooner than he thought, his eyes land upon a young woman with piercing blue eyes. She's lounging in a broad armchair with a book in her hands and her dress hitched up so high on her thigh that it must be deliberate. She must feel him watching her, because she looks up and meets his gaze, silently challenging him to approach.

"See anything you like?" she asks, putting the book aside.

"Maybe," Geralt replies, trying to get a look at the sides of her neck. Her golden hair hangs in the way. "Not many girls with eyes like yours."

"You're far from the first to mention my eyes. But you're definitely the first who answers 'maybe'." The woman stands up and brings herself provocatively close. "Why just 'maybe'?"

"Guess I need some time to make up my mind." As he speaks, Geralt reaches up to brush the hair from the woman's neck, revealing the scar from two small puncture wounds. Vampire, without question. "Interesting scar."

She hesitates for just a moment. "Do you like it? Do you want to see more?"

"Met a man who's looking for his sister. She's supposed to have a scar like that, and very blue eyes. Ring a bell?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I have no family," the woman claims, her voice going cold as she takes a step back.

"I can help you, if you're here against your will," Geralt tells her, quiet enough that only she can hear.

"I'm most certainly not." An unkind smile comes to the woman's lips. "If you have any issue with that, you can take it up with the madame. Now leave me. I won't do business with you."

Geralt steps away, not intending to bother her further. She either doesn't want to talk, or has been influenced to not be able to. Instead, he looks around for the madame, though none of the women he can spot seem to be more in charge than the others. Eventually he asks the hired muscle where he might find her, and is directed upstairs. After parting with some of his coin, naturally.

The vibration of his medallion grows stronger as he ascends the stairs, making him tread with caution. On the top floor, Geralt is met by an elegant woman with a strong authoritative aura about her, and several other women seated together, laughing and talking with pearling voices. The elegant woman spots him, and nods towards the empty space next to her on the sofa. All eyes are on him as he sits down.

"Who are you to disturb us?" the madame asks, her voice husky but betraying a certain wisdom. "You don't look like you can afford it."

"I'm a witcher. Have some questions about one of your girls."

"A witcher. Of course. What questions?"

"The blonde with the blue eyes. Her brother thinks she's been abducted by a vampire. Know anything about that?"

The woman plucks a grape from the nearby table and puts it in her mouth. She chews and swallows before she speaks. "I know of no abductions. The girl is here of her own free will. Don't look at me like that, it's not such a bad life! She is worshipped here, and lives in luxury. Had she stayed with her family she would have been married off to some disgusting old man and died after he kept forcing pregnancy after pregnancy upon her. She begged to be free of such a life and the vampire rescued her, nothing else."

"I take it you're the vampire in question." Geralt doesn't need to ask; his medallion is practically alive against his chest. "Bruxa?"

"Indeed."

"And the others?" Geralt nods towards the group of women sitting a few paces away.

"Some are bruxa, some are alp, and a few are human," she explains, her voice calm.

"You're not worried about telling a witcher all this?" Geralt wonders.

"We harm no one. We do not need blood to survive, and take but a little as part of payment for our services. And you would not kill creatures that pose no threat."

"Sound awfully sure about that."

"I am," the madame says, reaching for another grape. "For you are Geralt of Rivia, are you not?"

"How did you know?"

"Your reputation precedes you. And you once knew a past lover of mine. I like to keep tabs on those I've been close to, even if we've drifted apart. And since you were a friend of his..."

"Who was this lover?" Geralt asks, curious now.

"Why, Regis, of course."

Regis. The vampire Dandelion talked about, whom the thought of makes something hurt within Geralt's chest even though he can't explain it. He swallows. "When were the two of you together?"

"Oh, centuries ago. I had to end it when he came to favour the drink a bit too much for his own good though. A real shame, he was such a handsome man. Clever, too. But you know all about that, of course." She gives him a knowing smile, showing just a hint of her fangs. It makes Geralt's throat go dry for a second. "But back to the topic at hand. I do trust that you will not act against us."

Geralt blinks. He had almost forgotten why he came here in the first place.

When he doesn't reply right away, the madame reaches out to stroke her hand down his arm. "If you promise to make sure the girl's brother doesn't bother her, there will be something in it for you. My girls would love to spend some time with a witcher."

As he realises what she is suggesting, Geralt clears his throat and plucks her hand from his arm. For the first time, her confidence wavers. Geralt tries to reassure her with a gentle smile. "That won't be necessary. I won't tell him a thing."

"My my," the madame says, her confidence slipping back into place. "Aren't you full of surprises?"

The sound of hurried steps reach their ears then, and the woman with the blue eyes comes rushing into the room. She falls into the arms of the madame, trembling. "He's coming," she whimpers. "My brother is coming to take me back." The madame embraces her, stroking her hair. The blue-eyed woman spots Geralt then, and her gaze turns icy. "You! You told him I was here!" she accuses.

"Did no such thing. Been up here ever since I talked to you," he defends. He then looks at the madame. "Her brother's friend knew she was here. Might have finally convinced him to come take a look for himself."

The madame nods. "I believe you."

\---

Afterwards, Geralt doesn't feel bad about killing the men that came barging into the House of Night. He defended innocents against monsters, and that's that.

\---

During the days that follow, Geralt keeps finding himself drawn to the vampires' establishment, though he doesn't know why. But it isn't lust as most would expect. Only when he for the umpteenth time is unable to locate Dandelion to ask him the questions that itch in his mind does he realise that it is curiosity. About someone in particular.

So one late morning, when the House of Night is mostly silent, he knocks at the madame's door.

When she opens it she looks him up and down. "Have you changed your mind? Did you decide you want some time with the girls after all, to make your chivalrous actions feel appreciated?"

"Yes and no. Would rather like a favour."

She narrows her eyes. "What kind of favour?"

"I'd like to talk to you," Geralt admits, then looks away. "About Regis."

The madame, who still hasn't given him her name, looks at him with something Geralt can't discern. Then she opens her door wider, letting him in. "Of course. Take a seat."

The room is empty this time, the other women someplace else. Geralt chooses one of the armchairs, and the madame sits down in the one next to it. "Why this fascination with our mutual friend?" she asks. "Did he not tell you much when you knew him? I find it hard to believe, talkative as he was."

"I have amnesia," Geralt confesses. It's no secret. "Don't remember anything up until about a month ago. Trying to find out if anything from my past can jog my memory."

The woman's eyes fill with a surprising amount of compassion. "I see. Does that mean you're not aware that Regis is no longer with us?"

Geralt shakes his head. "No. A friend of mine told me the story."

"Ah. It's truly sad, how it ends. Very few things can kill a higher vampire, and it is unfortunate that Regis would come upon such a thing. But at least he died among friends, and I'm thankful for it."

"Sound like you still care about him."

"Of course I do. I didn't leave him for a lack of care, but only for his unhealthy habits."

Geralt frowns. "Was told that he stopped drinking blood though. Never tempted to get back together?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. He changed, after he committed to abstinence, isolated himself from most of our kind. I suspect he didn't want to fall back into temptation. And while I have never stopped caring for him, my feelings have been more friendly than romantic ever since. Have you never had a lover whom you cared for as a friend after things ended between you? That's a stupid question, I of course realise as I say it out loud. Amnesia."

"What was he like?" Geralt asks. Dandelion had been too focused on the events and adventures when he told his story.

"Sweet, but painfully shy when he was sober, and dangerously charming when he was not. He was very intelligent and sophisticated, though that changed somewhat as he began to drink more excessively. It consumed him, I'm sad to say. He couldn't think of anything else, which became his temporary undoing."

"Hacked up by peasants and spending fifty years below ground?"

"Just so," the madame confirms. She lets out a wistful sigh. "But before all of that, times were good. I admit I was a bit surprised when he wanted to settle down with me, because he certainly didn't lack options at the time and he was a bit of a flirt. Many would gladly have let him into their trousers or under their skirts, but he chose me for permanence." She pauses and seems to think her words over, looking at Geralt. "I do hope that's not something that bothers you."

"What?" Geralt asks, confused as to what she is referring to.

"You humans are so strange, only promoting the kind of intimacy that can lead to children, calling those who want anything different 'perverts'. Any kind of intimacy is perfectly natural as long as both parties consent, which is more than can be said for a lot of what you humans do to each other. Most vampires enjoy the company of more than one gender, and like I said: I do hope it doesn't bother you. And if it does, I'd prefer you keep it to yourself."

Oh. So that's what she meant. Geralt clears his throat. "It doesn't bother me, no."

The madame smirks then and tilts her head. "Hm. I forget that witchers aren't entirely human, and perhaps you don't share all human views. It makes me wonder, have you ever been with a man, Geralt of Rivia?"

"I wouldn't know. Amnesia," he reminds her, a bit startled by her boldness. Then he remembers Dandelion's comment about the dragon and the distinctively male pronouns that had been used, and feels the phantom of a blush on his cheeks.

"Of course. But haven't you wondered?" She shakes her head. "Forgive me. You came here to learn of your old friend, not to be interrogated about your sexual experience. I do run a brothel though, so you can hardly blame me. Where was I? Ah, yes, Regis and I settling down. He could be gloomy at times, for some of his friends had become cruel towards him. As time passed, more often than not he drank in solitude. I tried to be there for him and to help him, but there was nothing I could do. It got worse after I left, and not long after he had his incident with the angry peasants."

"Would you have stayed if you'd known what would happen?" Geralt finds himself asking.

The madame shakes her head. "I don't think it would have changed anything. I did use to wish that I could have known him sooner, before it was too late for him, but I realised quickly that there's no point dwelling on the past and what could have been."

"Wish I could have saved him though," Geralt says, surprising himself a little. "When he died for real. From what I was told, he was a good man and died fighting for my cause. Obviously don't remember anything about it now, but… Still wish it could have gone down differently."

"I think I understand what he saw in you, why he chose to travel with you," the woman says, and her smile is softer than before.

"Enlighten me."

"You care. You have a heart, despite all the claims that witcher's don't. You strike me as a good man, and I'm glad Regis had a friend like you before he passed." She smiles and touches his arm, but it's nothing like the seductive caress from a few days ago. Instead it's sincere and kind, imbued with her gratefulness.

"Would you like to see something?" she asks then, taking her hand back.

"Depends on what it is."

The madame doesn't answer, instead she stands from her chair and walks over to a cabinet. She opens it and takes out a small chest, from which she plucks something flat and rectangular. "We had this commissioned not long after we'd gotten together," she says as she approaches him again. She comes to stand by Geralt's shoulder, and places a small painting in his hands.

The frame is plain and minimalistic, made to hold the canvas while not being anything noteworthy on its own, and seems newer than the painting itself. The painting, which is a portrait of two people, a man and a woman. The woman is slender and dressed in an old-fashioned dress adorned with lace and pearls, with dark red hair framing her face. She is a little bit younger, but she is without a doubt the very same woman that now stands by Geralt's shoulder. The man is tall and lean, with dark hair and even darker eyes, dressed as elegantly and old-fashioned as the woman in a flattering jerkin. He has his hand around her waist and they both smile softly through the paint.

"This is Regis?"

"It is. I told you he was handsome, didn't I?" Her voice is fond and close to Geralt's ear.

"You did," he confirms. And finds that he agrees. Regis looks noble, and Geralt doesn't find it hard to believe that he did indeed have several women and men vying for his attention. In fact, if he flashed a smile and looked at him with those dark eyes Geralt would probably be charmed himself.

Oh. Oh no.

Geralt pushes the thought aside and clears his throat. "Thank you. For showing me this."

"Why of course. It must be hard not to have a face to put to the name. It's the least I could do."

Geralt leaves not long after that, which is when he finally lets his thoughts catch up with him. Had that appreciation for Regis' looks been a memory or something new? Had he and Regis…? No. Dandelion would have mentioned it if that was the case, Geralt is sure. Still, it does raise a few questions. And he really doubts that they're of the type that Triss had in mind when she urged him to figure out his identity.

\---

He doesn't want to let Triss down, even though he suspects it's inevitable. She's a nice woman and it's clear that she cares for him, but when Geralt has Dandelion take Alvin to her place, he fears that things have spiraled a bit out of his control.

"I'm glad you decided he'd be safer here, rather than with that medic," Triss tells him when he shows up, with a venom in her voice that Geralt has never heard before.

He frowns. "The kid has magic abilities. You're a sorceress." It seemed the most logical reasoning, he thought.

"True. But I'm still glad you chose to trust me. You should go inform her of your choice, too. And tell her to step away."

"Away from what?"

"From you, obviously. Don't play dumb, Geralt, it's clear she wants you." The disdain is clear in Triss' voice as she speaks.

Oh. Geralt recalls the offer Shani gave him some time ago, and the kiss that went with it.

Triss misinterprets his silence. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"No."

"You're very quick to deny it," Triss scoffs.

"Because nothing happened! And what does it matter anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Triss' voice becomes softer and she covers Geralt's hand with her own. "It matters because… Because I love you. And I want us to be together."

Geralt looks away, feeling that wrongness overcome him again.

He doesn't love her. He doesn't know if it's the mutations making him as unable to love as everyone says, or if they're simply not right for each other. Either way, the result is the same. He remains silent for a while, hoping that somehow he can get out of this without having to talk. He's not so lucky though.

Triss searches for his gaze. "Geralt? Please say something?"

"I…" He swallows, and begins anew. "I don't love you, Triss. Don't know if I can."

"Oh." Despite the confession, she comes closer, wraps her arms around him and holds her face against his chest. Her body is shaking just a little.

"I'm sorry," Geralt says, bringing his hands to her back to comfort her, even though he is the cause of her pain. And he is sorry, really. He thinks that love and happiness is something he wants in his life, and he wishes he could have had it this easily, with her. But he cannot.

"You don't have to love me," Triss says after some time, her voice steady. "But I would like it if you stayed. Do you see me as a friend, at least?"

"I do."

"And we could still share a bed? And other things?"

Geralt shakes his head, even though she can't see it. "Wouldn't be fair to you, when you feel something I don't."

"I decide what's fair to me and what isn't," Triss protests. She pushes herself back from Geralt's chest to meet his eyes. "I can put my feelings aside, but I still want you."

"Just friends?" Geralt asks, hoping she isn't trying to pry something else from him.

"Just friends. Who also have sex with each other." A mischievous smirk spreads across Triss' lips.

Geralt shrugs and returns it with one of his own. "Sounds good to me."

When they fall into bed together, Geralt finds that he finally enjoys it. Knowing that Triss no longer expects him to love her paradoxically makes him care for her more, and he thinks they might actually become really good friends with time. The wrongness that has been settled in his chest for so long eases a little, and for the moment he feels okay.

\---

It’s not until they’re seated in the inn outside Murky Waters that Geralt finally has a peaceful moment to talk to Dandelion.

"Would you tell me more stories?" he asks as they're seated in the corner with a tankard each in front of them. "About my past."

Dandelion needs little else in the way of encouragement, and quickly begins to tell tale after tale. None of them make Geralt remember anything, but it's still nice to hear them. Even if they are probably laden with embellishment.

"Slaying so many monsters I get," he comments when Dandelion finally pauses long enough for him to do so. "I am a witcher, after all. But sleeping with all those women? Don't you think it seems, I don't know, a bit excessive?"

Dandelion just laughs at that. "Sleeping with many women is never excessive, my friend. But if you think I'm exaggerating, I'm afraid you underestimate yourself. You have quite a way with the fairer sex, you see, wherever we go. 'How does he do it?' I've often asked myself, 'wooing all these ladies when so many people seem to hate witchers?' Even in Beauclair, when I thought my romance with my Little Weasel was going to be the only such, you still managed to find your way into Fringilla Vigo's bed." He pauses, but only for a dramatic sigh. "You and your sorceresses."

"We were in Beauclair?" Geralt asks. It's not the only thing he wants to ask about, but it seems as good a thing to start with as any.

"I didn't tell you yet? We travelled there with the hansa."

"The hansa?"

"So many questions! Yes, the hansa. That's what we called ourselves for a little while at least. You, me, Milva, Regis, Cahir and Angoulême."

None of the names ring any bell. Save for Regis. Geralt takes his chance. "I sleep with any of them too?" he asks, but tries to make it sound like he's joking.

It seems to work, because Dandelion laughs. "If you even hinted at it, Milva would have decked you in the face. And I think most of us saw Angoulême as a little sister more than anything else."

"And the others?"

Dandelion frowns. "Cahir and Regis? Why would you ask that?"

"Heard a rumour," Geralt lies.

"And a rumour was all it was," Dandelion assures him. "Trust me, if it had been anything else I would know about it. You used to tell me everything." He leans in and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "You told me about the dragon, remember?" And then he proceeds to tell the story to which said dragon belongs.

\---

In the months that follow — while Geralt works to take down the Salamandra and get back the things stolen from Kaer Morhen, and while trying to solve the mystery of King Foltest's would-be assassin —  Geralt and Triss continue to share a bed but no feelings. Then Foltest actually is assassinated, and Geralt recovers his first memory not long after, which puts an end to the bed-sharing.

The memory is about dying. And about Yennefer.

He can't understand why nobody told him about her. Did they all dislike her so much?

Geralt can't help but wonder if his feelings for and magical bond to Yennefer has been the reason for the wrongness he's felt. Maybe he simply couldn't love Triss because deep down he knew he loved Yennefer? Everything is a mess in his head, but he tries to sort it through to the best of his ability. He's grateful that Roche's ship doesn't have a bed for him to share with Triss, and happily sleeps alone in the hammock he's offered. He doesn't share her quarters when they reach Flotsam either.

\---

The next time a memory hits him it's just as unexpected. One second Geralt is below deck on the Flotsam prison barge, and the next he's on the island of paradise. But the paradise doesn't last, the memories becoming tainted by those of the Wild Hunt, attacking and taking Yen from him. When Geralt snaps out of it, the adrenaline is pumping through his veins and he's almost reaching for his sword.

Triss offers to help him restore his memories completely, and to go with him to find the Rose of Remembrance needed. Geralt shakes his head at the latter.

"I'll do it alone."

"I want to help, Geralt."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "I know. But I need to think."

He sets off to find the Rose alone then, accompanied only by his tumultuous thoughts. He needs to keep digging, needs to find out more about the Wild Hunt. How they found him, why they were chasing him, why they took Yennefer. And he needs to find her, needs to know that she is safe, because he can’t shake the feeling that the Hunt took her because of him.

\---

As it turns out, a Rose of Remembrance isn’t needed. His memories see fit to return on their own, sometimes because something triggers them and sometimes seemingly for no reason. They catch him off guard more often than not, ripping him from a conversation only for him to return dazed to looks of confusion, worry or annoyance. But as frustrating as it can be sometimes, Geralt is grateful that his memory is healing itself.

\---

He remembers more about Yennefer and his determination to find her grows. He hopes she is alright despite the circumstances, but wonders what reasons she might have for not coming to find him if that is the case. Doesn't she worry about him too?

He remembers Ciri. His daughter, or as close to one as he'll ever have. He wonders where she has gone, to what kind of world, and what she is doing. Wherever she is, Geralt hopes that she is happy and safe.

He remembers the friends he's made over the years. The hansa, that ragtag group of people that shouldn't have made any sense, but did. Dandelion, the only one else who still lives, despite the odds. Unlike Milva, Cahir and Angoulême. Unlike Regis.

The memories don't come all at once, but rather in bits and pieces, and rarely in the right order. With Regis, the first thing Geralt remembers is watching him die. It's horrible. Though whether the sight of his body being completely melted or whether his screams as he burned are the worst part, Geralt doesn't know.

He relishes in the happy memories instead, when they come back to him. Their group sitting by the fire, or riding through the forest. Him and Regis learning from each other, shaking their heads at the foolishness of the young.

The Regis in his memories isn't exactly the same as the Regis he saw in the portrait in Vizima. He looks older, with his hairline higher and his hair greying, with wrinkles marking his face and giving him a wise impression. Though whether the aging was caused by the years or by Regis' own preference isn't anything Geralt knows. He suspects it might have been a bit of both.

The attraction that hit him when he saw the portrait still gnaws at him. As the time passes, he becomes more and more certain that it wasn't something that his blank mind came up with on the spot, but rather something that has been with him for quite some time. Though he cannot remember ever saying it out loud, let alone act on it. Regardless, he pushes it away. It doesn't matter anymore, not when Regis has been dead for years.

\---

He finds Yennefer.

It doesn't happen at all how he expects it to.

He's recovered his memory completely by the time he meets her again, and while he remembers their constant squabbles he didn't expect them to fall back onto that routine so quickly.

She has remembered him for quite some time, yet she never looked for him, even though he was only a handful of spells away.

And she is working for Emhyr.

The circumstances are far from ideal, but at least he has found her again and for that he is happy. She's as beautiful as ever and he feels just as drawn to her as he always has. He wants to kiss and hold her, wants to let the world fade away until only the two of them matters. He knows that doing so would be wonderful, would feel _right_.

But there is no time for that. She leaves for Skellige before Geralt can even ask for a kiss.

\---

Geralt is busy after that, travelling throughout Velen and Novigrad in his search for Ciri. It feels like he gets sidetracked more often than not — but sometimes it pays off and he gains an unlikely ally or some unexpected coin, or even another clue about Ciri. Still, he longs for his search to be over.

\---

He ends up in a bookstore in Novigrad one afternoon, where there's apparently a message hidden somewhere for him. It's not easy to find, and he wastes his time looking through a lot of books before he finds the right one. Some aren't entirely a waste though, containing information about local legends or monsters that he makes sure to remember.

One of them contains, among many other things, someone's recollection of how he met a vampire. Geralt is halfway through skimming it when he realises that the vampire in question was none other than Regis.

He looks around, making sure that no one is watching him, before he rips out the page and stuffs it into his jacket. Regis may be dead, but Geralt still feels obliged to guard the secret of his true nature. (He knows there must be other copies of the book out there, but right then it doesn't matter.)

That night, he sits in front of the fireplace in the Rosemary and Thyme, when the place has been emptied of its shady patrons. Only a homeless woman remains, snoring faintly in a corner. Geralt takes out the folded page and holds it in front of him, reading it again and again.

Yennefer is still doing whatever it is she's doing in Skellige, and despite Geralt's best efforts Ciri's trail still doesn't feel any warmer. Triss has left with the rest of the mages, and Dandelion is still in prison. Even Zoltan is absent at the moment, out somewhere gambling away his money, no doubt.

Geralt can't help but feel so godsdamned _lonely_.

He reads the page again, even though he's practically memorised it by now. He can't help it; it just feels like meeting Regis for one last time, getting a chance to say goodbye. Finally, he lets the page go into the fire, the words burning away not to be read ever again.

"I hope you're not in pain, wherever you are," Geralt murmurs. "I hope you're happy." Something burns behind his eyes and he closes them, clenching his jaw. He takes a deep breath through his nose. And then he stays there for a while longer.

\---

He meets Yen again in Skellige.

They look for Ciri together, and once they run out of leads she asks him for a personal favour before they both are to return to the mainland. He is glad to help her, until he understand exactly what it is she wants help with. Does he annoy her so much that she can't bear to be with him anymore? The thought stings, but he helps her nonetheless.

In the end, breaking the spell doesn't change her feelings for him. She still loves him and still wants to be with him, even though neither of them really expected it.

But it changes everything for Geralt. He still loves Yen, still think she is incredible and beautiful. But he doesn't yearn for her any longer, doesn't feel drawn to her like he used to. He isn't _in_ love, and the thought of continuing their relationship in the same way fills him with that same sense of wrong as when Triss professed her love for him in Vizima. A sense of vertigo overcomes him, not from sitting on the mountaintop, but from feeling a good portion of what he imagined for himself fall from underneath his feet. Finding Yen and being with her has been his goal for so long now that he doesn't know what to do without it.

Yen isn't happy to hear about his changed feelings, but she doesn't cry. She never does.

\---

He finds Ciri.

For those awful, awful moments when he believes that she is dead, the world crumbles around him. He can't think, can't feel anything, the void in his chest threatening to grow and grow until it consumes him. He can only hold her.

She returns his embrace and he has never felt such relief.

\---

Everyone is reunited at Kaer Morhen for a while. Even though there is a battle coming, it feels good to have most of those Geralt considers family gathered together again.

\---

Vesemir dies.

Many boys are orphans before they begin their witcher training, and the rest are considered such as soon as they do.

Geralt has never felt like one until now.

\---

Though it seemed impossible, they defeat the Wild Hunt. And Ciri defeats the White Frost, saving the world like she was meant to do. Officially, she dies. She has to, in order for Emhyr to leave her alone. But in truth, which is only revealed to a select few, she lives. She and Geralt set out on the path together, witcher and witcheress, master and apprentice.

For a long time, Geralt is happy.

Then one day, Ciri decides she is ready to take on contracts on her own. Geralt is proud of her, content to see her grown up and living a life she enjoys. But it saddens him too, to part ways and continue on the path alone. He knows he will see her again, but he also knows that he will miss her terribly until that day comes.

\---

He keeps working, keeps taking on diverse contracts, some big, some small.

It's with some reluctance that he accepts the one posted on behalf of Duchess Anna Henrietta, for he isn't exactly keen on being at the mercy of her whims again. How many times was it that she ordered Dandelion hanged only to change her mind soon after? Geralt can't really remember. Still, the contract is addressed to him directly, and he suspects she'll hunt him across half the north until she gets hold of him.

Fine, he decides. He could use a change in climate anyway.

And so, Geralt finds Anna Henrietta's knights and rides with them to Toussaint.

\---

There's a strange thrill that comes with realising that the Beast of Beauclair is nothing other than a higher vampire. Because there's no doubt once the chase begins — the figure ahead of him moves with unparallelled strength and agility, changing from corporeal into mist and back into corporeal again, in a way that Geralt has only seen in one other individual before.

He wants to reason with the vampire but is given little choice once it attacks. The fight that follows is far from easy, but still Geralt knows that the vampire is holding back. For what reason however, he cannot say.

Pretty soon he is panting hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he fights for his life. When he loses track of the vampiric mist, only to hear it change form right behind him just a little bit too late, he has time to realise that this could be how he dies. But something else — no, _someone_ else — steps between them, letting himself be impaled by the vampire's claws instead.

Geralt doesn't recognise the newcomer's strained voice at first, is too focused on what the two are saying to each other.

_"He is my friend."_

It hits him then, and Geralt's knees nearly give way.

_Regis._

How is it possible?

Regis comes to pull him into a hug, and while Geralt now knows that embraces are something he reserves for a very small number of people, Regis most definitely counts among them. He holds Regis close, his arms tight around him, breathing in that familiar scent of spices (and the less familiar scent of Regis' blood). It feels safe and it feels _right_.

Regis is _alive_. Breathing. A hole in his chest, certainly, but it's already healing. Geralt can't believe it. He's holding Regis in his arms and he still can't believe it. Regis has a lot of explaining to do; it's a good thing he enjoys talking.

\---

Regis has taken up lodgings in a crypt. It's a bit much, even for him, though Geralt can't help but find it almost… endearing. Not that he'll ever admit that out loud.

Geralt makes Regis answer a few of his questions, at least the most prominent ones. Though he is still happy to talk, there is a weariness to his speech that wasn't there before. The weariness is visible too, in his new wrinkles and grayer hair. Geralt hopes it will fade as Regis regenerates completely. Regis deserves to feel healthy.

When Regis tells him he spent time in Dillingen, Geralt is struck by something hurtful and completely unjustified. It is the same thing he felt when he learned that Yen had remembered him and still chosen not to search for him. He pushes it away, knowing he's not right to feel it. Regis owes him nothing. Yet, he can't help but pry.

"Ever considered going further north?" he asks. "I don't know, to hear Dandelion's latest ballads, catch up."

Regis smiles at that. "His ballads reached Brugge, I can assure you. And you know as well as I that our mutual friend rarely stays in one place long enough for one to plan a visit."

Geralt looks at the bottle in his hands. "Got other friends up north as well."

"Meaning a certain witcher?" Regis' expression turns a bit grim. "Dettlaff informed me of your death. I saw little point in visiting you when the only company you would offer would be that of a headstone. But I understand now that one shouldn't believe rumours with quite such haste, as you are without a doubt still alive. Tell me, what really happened?"

"I died," Geralt says with a shrug.

Regis frowns, confused. It's a rare look for him.

"Ciri saved me," Geralt continues, passing the bottle over. "Me and Yen. Brought us back somehow, then took us someplace where we could be together, far away from the world.

"A happily ever after with your Yennefer? It must have been lovely." Regis' lips twitch into a smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It was," Geralt confirms. "Until the Wild Hunt found us, took Yen away. Long story short, I chased the Hunt to find Yen, managed to free her in exchange for becoming one of its riders. Ciri saved me once again, but though I was free of the Hunt I had lost my memory. Got it back eventually though."

"Evidently. Though those particular rumours didn't reach me until quite recently. And I must admit that I didn't give them much credence. This time I assumed the rumours were just that, and that people were simply mistaken." Regis sighs, then meets Geralt's eyes with a soft smile. "I was very happy to learn that that was not the case."

"Why, Regis," Geralt teases, "it almost sounds as if you missed me."

Regis' smile becomes a little bit wider. "It's very good to see you again, my friend."

He looks beautiful, Geralt thinks. He knows he'll never be able to say it out loud, but he does allow the statement to exist in his thoughts. "Same goes for you," he says. If Regis only knew how much.

\---

Going to Tesham Mutna is a terrible idea.

Geralt dislikes it from the start, and watching Regis down that raven's blood only makes it worse.

Regis is uncharacteristically silent on the journey there, and that worries Geralt almost as much as the way Regis keeps turning his head in Geralt's direction and taking a deep breath through his nose. Every time, he violently shakes his head afterwards and turns away.

"It's alright, Regis," he tries to assure at one point.

"It really isn't. But I appreciate your concern." Regis pauses, and when he speaks again his voice seems… thinner, somehow. "Promise me that if I try to hurt you, you will defend yourself. Even go as far as to cut off my head if you have to, though I do hope it won't have to come to that."

Geralt stops for a moment, caught off guard. "Regis… I can't do that."

Regis turns around, facing him. "Yes, you can, and you must. Whatever will slow me down long enough to make me calm down. I will heal from it. Whereas if I hurt you in that state, you will not."

Geralt sees the pleading in Regis' eyes, the fear. Fine then, if it will make this easier for him. "I promise," he says, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But if it really comes to it, he isn't sure that he will be able to keep it.

Regis gives him a strained smile. "Thank you. Let's keep moving."

\---

Regis screams. He screams and he screams and Geralt wants nothing more than for the whole ordeal to be over. It sounds so much like the screams at Stygga castle.

When the scurvers finally stop coming into the chamber he hurries to lower the cage, needing to see if there is anything he can do for Regis. There isn't. He can only be as gentle as possible while grasping Regis' clawed hand to get a blood sample. He searches Regis' face for anything, anything at all, but finds only uncontrolled fury and unimaginable pain.

Geralt resigns himself to the fact that they can only wait, and he kneels down to meditate.

\---

Regis can't walk on his own, and Geralt holds him up the entire trek back from the ruins. He says even less than he did on the way there, but every now and then he breaks into sharp coughs that shake his entire body. Were he human, Geralt would have feared that he was close to death.

\---

Geralt should probably leave right after his visions from the Resonance potion, but he can't really bring himself to. Instead, he sits down next to Regis on the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

"Don't you have places to be?" Regis asks weakly.

"I do. But thought it could wait until you at least feel a little better."

Regis chuckles, but it quickly turns into another series of coughs. "How generous. But you really needn't waste your time in here."

"Not wasted if it's spent with a friend," Geralt says, unsure if Regis is just trying to be selfless or if he's rejecting him.

"True indeed, but I'm afraid I make rather poor company at the moment."

Geralt swallows, looking straight ahead rather than meeting Regis' eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"

Regis is silent for a moment. "No," he says finally, before coughing again.

Geralt sighs, relieved. The thought of Regis not wanting him around stings more than he'd like. "Then I'll stay. Get some rest."

Geralt draws himself out of his meditation a while later, only to find that Regis is awake and watching him. There's something in his gaze that fades once Geralt meets it, quick enough that he can't tell what it was.

"Feel any better?" he asks. They're sitting a bit closer to each other than they need to, but Geralt doesn't intend to change it. He likes the closeness, likes how comforting it is.

"Quite a bit," Regis tells him. "I'm still rather weary, but the coughing has stopped at least."

"Good."

"I… must admit, I did not expect you to still be here when I woke," Regis says after a moment.

"'Course I'd be. Who else would fight off the kikimores if they decided to come back?" Geralt teases.

"I'm quite certain I could handle a few kikimores," Regis scoffs.

Geralt shrugs. "Like you said, you could barely stand. And it'd just be so embarrassing if a higher vampire got chewed up by a couple kikimores."

Regis rolls his eyes. "Point taken."

A comfortable silence settles between them for a while, until Geralt is the one to break it.

"You doing okay though? Y'know, addiction-wise?" he asks.

Regis sighs. "I feel no desire to tear open your throat, if that is what you're asking. But I would rather not surround myself with blood to test my resolve either."

Geralt nods. He is silent again for a moment. It's bad, but it could be a lot worse. "Hated seeing you like that," he confesses, glancing at Regis.

Regis clenches his jaw and looks away, somewhere between bitter and ashamed. "Bestial?"

"In pain," Geralt says, shaking his head. "Made me think of Stygga."

A slow, shaky breath escapes Regis' lips. "As painful as today was, what happened to me at Stygga was far worse," he admits.

"Need to stop dragging you into these things," Geralt murmurs, the guilt washing over him.

"I wasn't forced, neither then nor now," Regis points out. "And I'll be fine, don't you worry."

"Still don't get why you did it," Geralt admits. "Dettlaff's your blood brother, sure, but back then? Never did tell us why a higher vampire decided to travel with a witcher and his band of misfits."

"To complete the set, of course," Regis jokes, but there's something behind his eyes, as if he's hiding something.

"Come on," Geralt pushes. Maybe he could finally get some insight into Regis' mysterious reasoning.

Regis sighs, his brows knitting together. "I suppose I was intrigued," he says finally. "Forgive me, Geralt, but I'm afraid I am too tired to go into any lengthy explanation at the moment. I wish to rest."

Hesitantly, Geralt reaches up to place his hand on Regis' shoulder. "It's alright," he says, his voice gentle. "I'll stay for a while longer."

Regis shakes his head. "No. You should get going, and I… I need some time alone, to heal."

And there it is. The rejection. As much as he claims otherwise, maybe Regis does blame Geralt for his pain. Not intending to impose on him further, Geralt stands up and heads for the door.

\---

"You know," Geralt says as they're sitting in the gloomy toy shop, "not all that surprised to hear that you were a popular kid. Heard from a trustworthy source a while back, in fact, that you had a lot of vampires vying for your attention."

"What source would that be?" Regis asks, surprised.

"Your past lover. That vampire girl you settled down with for a while," Geralt explains, unable to keep the little smirk off his face.

"My– How did you ever come to meet _her_?" Regis twists his hands in his lap.

"She runs a brothel in Vizima. Worked a contract there."

"Not on her head, I hope? For both your sakes."

"At first. But she proved to be innocent, so the contract changed a bit."

"I'm glad to hear it," Regis says with a nod. "She is doing well then?"

"Last I saw her, yeah," Geralt replies. "Miss her?"

Regis shakes his head. "Not really. I miss very little of that part of my life. Though I cannot help but wonder what she told you?"

"Nothing bad," Geralt assures him. "Like I said, that you were popular. That you were charming and liked to flirt." He doesn't really know why he says that last bit. To provoke, maybe, to get Regis to prove it by intentionally using those charms on Geralt. It's pathetic, he knows, but he just wants to see a genuine smile on Regis' lips. He wants to pretend for just a moment.

Regis chuckles, a bit bashful. "Exaggerations from a time when I was young and foolish, I assure you."

"That so?" Geralt asks. "Seem to recall you having quite a way with that succubus, last time we were here."

"Simply because it was necessary at the time. But with age I have learned to not look for love or anything akin to it."

"Why not?" Geralt furrows his brows, gesturing to Regis. "You could find someone, easily."

Regis looks at him for a long moment. There's something melancholy in his eyes. Sad, even. "That's kind of you, Geralt. But believe me, I could not."

Geralt wants to protest, but something in Regis' voice stops him. He clears his throat instead, shifting the focus back to himself for once, trying to ease Regis' mind. "On the topic of past lovers though," he says. "Earlier, you compared Dettlaff's willingness to kill for Rhenawedd to me and Yen, but…" He looks down at the floor. "We're just friends these days, Yen and I. In case you didn't know."

"Well… I'm certain you'll find your way back to each other sooner or later," Regis says after a moment, his voice strangely distant. "It is the nature of the spell that binds you, is it not?"

Geralt shakes his head. "Not this time. We broke the spell."

"And she no longer felt for you?" Regis guesses, always quick to jump to conclusions.

"Actually, her feelings didn't change. Mine did, though. Had just been drawn to her because of the spell for a long time, I think."

Regis is silent for a few moments. "Yet you sound sad."

Geralt shrugs. "Was part of me for decades. Thought I'd settle down with Yen, in the end."

"Ah, I see," Regis hums. "It is not the loss of the relationship itself that pains you, but the loss of the future it promised."

"Something like that," Geralt agrees.

"You have many years ahead of you yet," Regis assures him. "I'm certain a man such as yourself won't have any trouble finding someone new if that is what you desire."

Geralt almost hopes that Regis will say something more, but he doesn't know what. A confession that Geralt isn't the only one who feels that hidden attraction? Geralt silently scolds himself for even thinking it. Just because Geralt feels more at ease in Regis' company than with anyone else lately, it doesn't mean that the feeling is mutual.

\---

They have very little time to talk over the days that follow.

After finding Syanna, they're completely occupied with trying to locate Dettlaff, neither of them having any energy for chit chat. And then Dettlaff's vampires attack Beauclair and all hell breaks loose.

Regis asks that they try to give Dettlaff what they want, try to bring Syanna to him and at least have a shot at reasoning with him. Geralt can't deny him his request and knows that he is doing the right thing when he sees Regis' shoulders sag in relief.

\---

Geralt does not like the Land of a Thousand Fables. Not in the slightest. It's too bright and unreal, the feigned joyfulness coated on too thick. It feels slick and oily and it makes his skin crawl.

Though what makes him most uncomfortable is that he doesn't know where Regis is. Was he left in the real world or is he also in here somewhere? Does the illusion work differently on post-conjunction creatures? He knows that very little can harm Regis, but deteriorating magic can sometimes become even more powerful than it was originally intended.

He doesn't like the fact that he has to work with Syanna to get out either. Be it because of the Curse of the Black Sun or not, she is a cruel woman who doesn't regret the many deaths on her conscience.

Thankfully, it's over fast enough. Though before they get to the well that Syanna claims to be their way out, she takes his hand and suggests they stay a while longer. Geralt rejects her gently, even though the very thought of being with her repulses him.

"Do you not find me attractive?" she asks as they walk towards the well, even though she has just said that she is fine with his decision. "Or do you fear I shall treat you like I've treated Dettlaff? Or… is there someone else you want?" She smiles, but not kindly. "Everyone has heard the ballads about you and Yennefer of Vengerberg. My hair is as black as hers, perhaps if I closed my eyes you could pretend I was her?"

"Wasting your time, Syanna," Geralt mutters.

"Hm. Shame there's no time for me to learn what makes you tick. I would have loved to have you on my side."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

\---

Geralt is more than relieved to learn that Regis stayed in reality, safe and sound.

He is less happy with the fact that Syanna and Regis immediately go toe to toe and, tired as he is of her scheming and manipulation, tells Syanna to back off.

She looks at him for a long moment, inquisitive and searching, before she smiles that cold smile again.

"I understand now why I couldn't convince you," she tells him later as they walk through the palace grounds. She nods towards Regis, who is walking only a few steps ahead. "Does he know?"

"Shut up," Geralt snaps. Regis hears every word surely. As much as he knows that he should tell Regis what he feels at some point, now definitely isn't the time.

"So that's a 'no' then. Interesting," she hums. "Perhaps I should say something, help you along? You could see it as thanks for helping me escape the Fables."

Geralt stops and grabs her by the arm, hard. "If you don't shut up I'll gag you. Your choice."

Regis stops as well, looking at them over his shoulder, his brows knitted together.

Syanna smiles, sickly, sweetly. "No need. The seed has been planted."

Geralt lets go of her, shoving her forwards to make her keep walking. He doesn't dare look at Regis.

\---

Dettlaff kills Syanna before either Regis or Geralt can stop him.

She was cruel, true, but she deserved a trial. Not this. Geralt knows that he would be justified in killing Dettlaff now, when he has killed of his own volition, but he can't do it. He doesn't want more bloodshed, and he couldn't do that to Regis. So he tells him to leave.

\---

Geralt spends the next weeks in the Toussaint prison. It's by no means pleasant, but while the guards turn a blind eye to fights they are at least intent to keep any prisoners from being raped — unlike the guards in the dungeons in Kerack many years ago, as far as Geralt recalls.

During his time behind bars, Geralt thinks. Tries to figure out what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this, but he comes up with nothing. At least it was only he that was thrown in prison, and not Regis too. Though Geralt misses him something terribly.

He wonders where he is. Maybe he has left already, chased after Dettlaff to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again. Some selfish part of Geralt hopes that Regis is staying around, waiting for him for whatever reason. But mostly he just hopes Regis is happy, whatever he's doing.

\---

Geralt has never before been so happy to see Dandelion. To think that he came all the way to Toussaint just to help Geralt out of prison. He forgets, sometimes, just how much his friends are willing to do for him.

And Dandelion wouldn't even have known he was needed, if not for Regis. The thought tugs at Geralt's heart and he decides to head for Regis' home at the cemetery as soon as he can.

It turns out, however, that he needn't go that far. Regis is waiting just beyond the prison gates, his face splitting into a wide smile as soon as he sees him. For the first time in weeks, Geralt relaxes.

His good mood sours just a little when Regis brings up the possibility of a fifth and final victim, but he agrees to solve the mystery.

"Need to go home first though, wash away the prison stench, do something about this." He drags a hand over his beard, which is unkempt to say the least.

"Understandable," Regis says with a nod. "Would you like some help with the latter? I am a _barber_ -surgeon, after all."

Geralt shrugs, trying not to think too hard about having Regis' careful hands touching his face. "If you're offering."

"Why, of course," Regis says as they begin walking. "Besides, I would love to actually come and see this estate of yours."

Geralt grins. "And here I thought it was a myth that vampires needed to be invited in."

"Ah, but it is indeed true concerning those who adhere to politeness and etiquette. A group to which I would like to consider myself belonging to," Regis replies, with a smile of his own.

"Then I hereby invite you to come with me to Corvo Bianco," Geralt declares.

Regis gives a small bow. "It would be my pleasure."

\---

B.B. is so overjoyed to have Geralt home that he doesn't even notice Regis at first. Once he does, he frets and apologises, until Geralt assures him it's fine.

"If you could have a bath drawn for me that'd be great," he tells him, to which B.B. eagerly nods.

"Absolutely, sir. It shall be ready before you know it," he promises, before darting off.

Once they're alone, Regis speaks up. "The place is quite charming, I must admit."

"Even though it isn't a dank crypt?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose a few headstones would liven up the place. Perhaps I could donate some?"

Geralt chuckles, shaking his head. "You want the tour or not?"

They take the route around the house and grounds while B.B. prepares the bathwater, Geralt telling Regis what details he remembers and Regis making his own comments every now and then. The final stop is the alchemy lab in the cellar and, just as expected, this fascinates Regis the most.

"Feel free to stay and examine things while I bathe if you want," Geralt suggests.

Regis looks up from one of the containers on the table. "What? Yes, I think I would like that. I'll see you soon, Geralt."

"Take your time," Geralt tells him, his heart swelling with fondness for Regis and his enthusiasm over the lab. Maybe he could use it as a bargaining chip, to convince Regis to stick around for a while. Because Geralt wants Regis around, in whatever way possible, there's no doubt about it.

The bath is waiting for him when he comes back from the cellar, and Geralt wastes no time in getting undressed and sinking into hot water for the first time in weeks. He stays like that for a long time, and only begins to wash himself once the water begins to turn lukewarm.

To his surprise, he finds Regis in the main hall as he returns from the bath.

"Thought I'd have to pry you away from that alchemy table," Geralt admits as he reaches behind his head to tie back his wet hair.

"I would certainly like to make use of it one day," Regis admits. "But I have been deprived of your company for weeks, my friend; I didn't wish to extend that any further." He pulls out a chair, gesturing for Geralt to sit, and only now does Geralt notice the razor, shears and basin of water that has been placed on the table.

Geralt pulls off the linen shirt he had just donned and sits down, letting Regis drape a towel over his shoulders. He feels self-conscious, in the same way as when Yennefer would watch him with her scrutinising eyes, even though Regis doesn't even spare him a glance.

"So," Regis begins, hands hovering above the table, "would you like a clean shave or just a trim?"

"Close trim," Geralt says, trying and failing to pretend that Regis is just like any other barber he's visited.

"I've been curious about that, I must admit," Regis says as he gets to work. "As far as my memory serves me you used to be rather meticulous about keeping your beard at bay, but since you returned to Toussaint I have yet to see you without one. What brought on this change of preference?"

"Don't know," Geralt replies. "Guess it just happened."

"Hm. I suppose it does lend you a rather… ruggedly handsome visage, as befits one of your profession," Regis muses, his lips twitching into a smirk for a brief moment.

Geralt has to do a double take because Regis just called him _handsome_. It doesn't have to mean anything, he knows that, and it probably doesn't. Still, Geralt knows that he would blush if he could. "Heh. Pretty sure it's just 'rugged'," he mutters.

"Oh, on the contrary," Regis protests. Geralt wishes he could see his eyes, what's behind them, but the angle is wrong. "You need but enter a tavern for a few moments and eavesdrop on the young ladies, if you do not believe me. And I'm certain the young gentlemen agree as well, though they are less prone to gossip about it."

"Getting a bit too old to care what the youth are saying," Geralt huffs.

"Then rest assured that the older parts of the population share the same sentiment as well." Regis' hands still for a moment and he gives Geralt a soft smile. "I merely wish you to believe it when nice things are said about you, instead of just believing the opposite."

"Gonna take some work, that," Geralt says, but he feels something warm spread in his chest at Regis' kind words.

A comfortable silence falls for a while, with only the sounds of Regis' shears and the muted noises of the estate's workers beyond the walls providing ambience. It's a bit unusual for Regis to be this quiet, so Geralt supposes he must have something on his mind.

It is Geralt who finally breaks the silence as Regis puts his shears down.

"Thanks for the trim." He clears his throat. "Y'know, been meaning to ask: Told me a while ago all higher vampires have unique abilities and that Dettlaff's is that he's a sort of pack leader. Never mentioned yours though."

Regis looks a bit surprised, before his smile turns smug. "Why, here I thought the famed witcher would have deduced it already. I am uniquely resilient."

"Aren't all higher vampires?"

"Indeed. Our wounds heal within instants. Still most can be harmed, if but for a moment, whereas I personally remain unaffected by things such as fire," Regis explains. "And while silver isn't lethal to higher vampires, it is rather uncomfortable to touch for the rest of my brethren. Like being stung by a nettle, I suppose is a fair comparison."

"But not for you." Geralt recalls Syanna mentioning Dettlaff gripping a silver candlestick through a piece of cloth. He thought it odd at the time, given how Regis had never shied away from silver, but now it makes sense.

Regis shakes his head. He reaches for Geralt's wolf medallion then, carefully cupping it in his fingers, brushing against Geralt's bare skin as he does. "No. For me, silver is simply a beautiful metal." His eyes lock with Geralt's and there's something behind them, something sincere and heavy that Geralt can't decipher and he has to look away. He can still feel Regis' eyes on him though, and he can still feel his skin burn where Regis brushed against it.

Geralt swallows, trying to remember what they're talking about. "It, uh, come with a price? Like how Dettlaff is more impulsive?"

"Yes," Regis simply says, sounding somewhat pained. He lets go of the medallion, letting it fall back against Geralt's chest. He turns away with a sigh, shaking his head. "Forgive me for not elaborating, Geralt. This is one of those vampiric things I mentioned, the explanation of which is simply too complicated to explain." His tone gets a bit lighter as he continues. "Please get dressed, as I do believe we still have a mystery to solve."

Geralt stands from the chair and reaches for his shirt, something uncomfortable settling in his gut. He can't help but feel that he said something wrong. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."

"I know. Think nothing of it," Regis assures.

Geralt isn't convinced, but he goes to don his leather jerkin and belts, making sure his swords are strapped securely against his back. The weight of them is comforting after so many weeks without. Once Geralt is ready to leave Regis is his usual self, smiling and holding the door open for him.

\---

Neither of them is really surprised to learn that Anna Henrietta was supposed to be Dettlaff's final victim. But with Syanna dead the immediate threat to the duchess' life is no more, and Regis and Geralt decide to simply retire to the cemetery for a couple of drinks.

At one point, Regis tells him that he intends to leave Beauclair again, that he must find Dettlaff and do whatever he can to help him. Geralt feels his heart start to beat a bit faster at that, feels the slight panic beginning to swell. He thought he would have more time with Regis, more time to gather the courage to admit what he has been feeling, _is_ feeling, but he cannot find the words to protest. And besides, it would be selfish for him to do so.

"There is something I must ask you," Regis says later, much later, when the campfire is dying but neither of them have made a move to either revive it or call it a night. "Something that has been gnawing on my mind and which I suspect will continue to do so if we are not to see each other for a while." He pauses, takes a breath. "When we were escorting Syanna to Tesham Mutna, she said something about not being able to convince you. And she asked 'does he know?'. I have, perhaps wrongly, assumed that I was the 'he' in question, but I have not been able to guess what knowledge she was referring to. Would you be so kind as to aid me with this brain teaser?"

So this is how it happens, Geralt thinks as something heavy forms in his gut. He didn't think it would come so soon, but he needs to decide whether to actively lie to Regis, or confess. He doubts that Regis would be disgusted with him, but he does fear the uncomfortable strain that could be placed on their relationship if Regis doesn't feel anything in return. And why would he? Geralt is just a witcher who brings more trouble than he could ever be worth, whereas Regis… Whereas Regis is intelligent, charming, handsome and considerate. Regis could have anyone, simply by smiling in their direction.

Geralt blinks, realising Regis is still waiting for an answer. He takes a deep breath, one that wavers a little despite his best efforts. "Back in the Land of a Thousand Fables, she offered to sleep with me. Wanted someone else to use when Dettlaff wasn't hers to control anymore, I guess. Turned her down, and she wasn't too happy about it."

"That was what she couldn't convince you about," Regis concludes. "I'm relieved to hear it. I truly do not understand what Dettlaff ever saw in her." He shakes his head. "I'm afraid my question still hasn't found an answer, however."

"I'm getting there," Geralt says, and can't help the fond smile that settles on his lips. "You know, for an immortal who loves to talk at length, you can be pretty impatient."

Regis shrugs and returns the smile. "One of my many vices. Please, do continue."

The discomfort returns to Geralt again and he sighs. "The reason that Syanna understood that she hadn't been able to convince me… Was because she saw how I looked at you." He clenches his jaw, steeling himself for the rejection. He doesn't meet Regis' eyes. Can't.

It becomes very silent and remains so for a long time.

Until Regis finally asks, sounding almost breathless, "How _do_ you look at me?"

"You don't have to ask about it," Geralt protests, wishing Regis would just tell him to fuck off and be done with it. Not drag it out. "Won't mention this again, nothing has to change. Just… Don't wanna lose you again."

A soft gust of wind comes toward him, and before Geralt has processed it Regis is sitting next to him. Close, but not touching. "Geralt…" he says gently, placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder.

Anger flares up inside him for a moment and he shrugs Regis' hand off. "Please don't try to let me down easy. Don't need it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Regis tells him, his voice still as gentle, putting his hand on Geralt's shoulder once again. "In fact, I wouldn't dream of letting you down at all."

Geralt freezes. He must have misheard.

Regis reaches up with his other hand, placing one, two fingers on Geralt's chin. He pulls just a little, making Geralt turn to face him.

There is something soft in Regis' black eyes. Something gentle and hopeful, and maybe even something insecure. "Ah. Why did I not see it before?" Regis asks softly, maybe to Geralt, maybe to himself. "Was it so well hidden, perhaps? Or was I so certain it wouldn't be there that it simply passed me by? Because I did not dare to hope. Never." His gaze flickers down then, down to Geralt's mouth. Geralt isn't sure at first, but his doubts are dispelled the second Regis brushes his thumb across his bottom lip, sending a shudder throughout his body.

Geralt leans into the touch. "Please," he begs, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Regis' hand moves from his chin to cupping his cheek and he surges forward to kiss him.

Geralt supposes he must be dreaming. How else could Regis be kissing him? How else could he gasp only to feel Regis deepening the kiss further? How else could he have one hand on Regis' knee and the other tangled in his wispy hair, pulling him closer?

Regis pulls away eventually, but doesn't let go of Geralt's face. A soft, content sigh escapes him, and they're still close enough that Geralt can feel the tickle of it against his lips. "Why ever didn't you say anything?"

Geralt leans his head into Regis' touch. "Why didn't you?" he retorts.

Regis hums, a bit melancholy. "I long ago concluded that nothing would ever come of it. You and Yennefer, bound together by love, poetry, and magic — why would you trade that in for anything else? And besides, I couldn't fathom that I would possess anything you might desire. I still don't, in fact."

"Regis, you're– You're _you_. How could I not want that?" Geralt says, covering Regis' hand with his own. "And I told you, Yen and I broke the spell."

"True, but that was only recently."

"Wait. For how long…?"

Regis sighs. "Since the evening spent in my cottage in Fen Carn."

Geralt's eyes widen in disbelief. All this time?

"It was why I chose to come with you," Regis admits, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Humans do foolish things when they are in love, and vampires are no different in that regard. I understood that you would never return my feelings, but I knew that I could not simply stay put and watch you walk away either."

Geralt tries not to think about how different things might have turned out if both of them had been just a little more daring. There's no use dwelling on the past when the present is so wondrous. Regis just told him he was _in love_ . With _Geralt_. "Dunno if it came across, but I do feel the same," he says, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Regis smiles back and chuckles. It's light and carefree and suits him very well. "I might need a moment to let that sink in."

Geralt shrugs and leans into Regis' touch. "Not going anywhere."

Regis leans closer, resting his forehead against Geralt's. "You never cease to astonish me, do you know that?"

"Do my best," Geralt hums, almost overwhelmed with how content he feels. He wants more, of course, wants everything Regis is willing to give him. But he would also be perfectly happy to stay just like this for the rest of eternity. It feels _right_ , through and through.

Except for one little thing, that is.

Geralt pulls back a little, but holds onto Regis' hand. "Said earlier that you mean to go after Dettlaff. You really have to?"

Regis squeezes his hand. "I do. But I don't need to go yet. And I would very much like to return to you after, if you'll have me."

"'Course I will," Geralt promises. "Could go with you even, if you wanted. Anything, as long as I get to be with you in the end."

Regis looks at him with an affection that Geralt has never seen before. To think that Regis has hidden it all this time. To think that Geralt thought he knew what love was before now.

This is it, Geralt realises. Whatever is between them has barely started to take shape, but he already knows that he's ruined for anyone else. It's Regis or nothing, and he couldn't ask for anything better.

"Nothing would make me happier," Regis tells him, smiling wide enough to show his fangs. "But we'll talk about it later. For now I would just like to hold you."

Geralt raises an eyebrow, his smile turning into a smirk. "Just hold me?"

"Well." Regis lets his hand move up along Geralt's arm, sliding back to settle at the back of his head, claws scraping carefully against his scalp. "There are a few other things that come to mind, though they are not mutually exclusive."

Geralt leans in, but pauses just before he reaches Regis' lips. "Anything," he repeats, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you did! <3


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